


Grasp

by sparklyfaerie



Series: Kyoru Week 2020 [7]
Category: Fruits Basket, Fruits Basket (Anime 2019), Fruits Basket - Takaya Natsuki (Manga)
Genre: F/M, Kyoru Week 2020, Masturbation, day seven: hands, in which Kyo is very horny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:53:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26971702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparklyfaerie/pseuds/sparklyfaerie
Summary: As it turns out, living with a girl is dangerous.
Relationships: Honda Tohru/Sohma Kyou
Series: Kyoru Week 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1975333
Comments: 3
Kudos: 64





	Grasp

As it turns out, living with a girl is dangerous.

Not in the way Kyo expected, with the constant threat of transformation hanging over his head. She’s clumsy, but he generally has good enough reflexes to dodge her when she starts to topple in his general direction. It only takes a short while to figure out that that’s not his biggest concern.

It first happens in his third week of living at Shigure’s. They’d just cleaned out the pervy dog’s old upstairs library for Kyo to use as a bedroom that day, and Kyo is fucking _tired_. He’s had about as much of the dog and the damn rat as he felt he could take for one evening and escapes upstairs to his brand new room—complete with lock on the door, to keep unwanted housemates out.

She's just coming out of the bathroom when he reaches the top of the stairs, nearly crashing into him as she twists her hair into a towel. His traitorous eyes follow the column of her throat down over her (bare) shoulders, across the top of her chest, to the edge of the towel that barely hides the swell of her—

“ _What the fuck_?!” He rips his eyes away as soon as he realises exactly what it is he’s seeing. Closing them and turning his face to the wall, he feels his cheeks _burn_ with mortification.

She squeaks and bolts for her bedroom door. “I’m so sorry!” He hears her cry, and opens his eyes when he hears it slam shut. She’s gone. “I wasn’t expecting anyone—Sohma-kun doesn’t usually come upstairs until much later!”

“Yeah, well… I go to bed early.” He retorts when she cracks the door open to look at him. He averts his eyes, but not quite quickly enough to not notice the red of her face.

“I’m _so_ sorry, Kyo-kun.” She says plaintively. “I really didn’t expect anyone to come upstairs until later. I’ll take a change of clothes into the bathroom from now on.”

He only manages to grunt and escapes to his room, slamming the door behind him and turning the lock. His entire body is burning with shame. He feels gross as his mind replays the trajectory that a droplet of water had taken, from behind her ear all the way down her throat, across her chest, to disappear—

He shakes his head even as he feels his body ignite.

“No.” He growls to himself.

(It doesn’t help. He seeks relief in the palm of his hand later that night.)

* * *

Kyo both loves and hates the person on the school board who decided that miniskirts were okay for the girls’ uniform.

He feels gross even as he eyes the flash of her legs as they walk to and from school. He walks behind them—partially to avoid spending more time with Yuki than he has to, partially to avoid getting caught. He hasn’t known Tohru for more than two months, but ever since that incident with the towel, he’s _painfully_ aware of how feminine she is.

Not that he wasn’t aware already. A lifetime of paranoia of the opposite sex has made him hyperaware of girls—but not like _this_. He’s ever looked at a girl like this before; never ogled shamelessly as the light hits pearly thighs as Tohru walks home from school.

He feels dirty. They’re sort-of friends, now. He’s never repeated the moment of weakness he had when he jerked off to the memory of her in her towel, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t _want_ to. And that sends him into another spiral of shame and self-disgust for a number of different reasons; not the least of which is that she seems so pure and naïve that there’s no way she can know he’s been looking at her like that.

That day, however, he realises the mistake of walking behind them.

He’s further behind than normal due to the rainy weather sapping his energy, meaning he takes a good thirty seconds extra to get into the house behind them. When he steps in the door and moves to kick off his shoes, he’s greeted with the sight of Tohru bent over undoing her laces.

He chokes on his own saliva and averts his eyes, violently kicking off his shoes. He catches Yuki giving him a scornful, knowing look and he glares before shoving past him and making for the stairs.

“Are you okay, Kyo-kun?” Tohru calls after him worriedly.

He spares her a look over his shoulder and turns back toward the stairs.

“M’fine.” He grunts and takes them two at a time, trying _very_ hard not to remember the flash of pink he’d caught from under her skirt. He’s _never_ going to walk behind her again.

(And despite himself, he becomes quite acquainted with the grip of his own hand after that day.)

* * *

He’s a fucking _goner_ by the time they get home from the beach house.

It’s _normal_ , Shishou told him once. Nothing to be embarrassed or ashamed about. At the time he’d wondered why he was even bothering to give Kyo _The Talk_ , considering it wasn’t ever something he was going to have to deal with; girls were strictly off-limits, and _everyone_ knew that even if one of the zodiac found someone who was willing to work with the curse, Akito would never allow it. Hatori’s eye was proof enough of that.

Still, the fact that it’s completely normal doesn’t stop the shame bubbling up in him when he finishes to the memory of her bending over in the sand in her swimsuit. He swallows heavily and tries to banish Kyoko’s voice from his mind, berating him for taking advantage of her sweet daughter, even though he hasn’t so much as laid a finger on her, _and_ _is trying very hard not to let on to what he does in the privacy of his own bedroom—_

Knock knock.

“Kyo-kun?” Her voice floats through the door. “Dinner’s ready.”

“I’ll be down in a minute!” His voice is higher than normal, strangled with relief. If she’d just come upstairs _five minutes earlier_ …

He hears her chirp a reply and retreat. He cleans himself off as best he can and makes a stop at the bathroom before he joins them for dinner.

(If anyone notices how he avoids touching anything besides his chopsticks with his right hand, no one says anything.)

* * *

He’s long given up on the idea that there’s no way she could have feelings for him. In fact, he’s almost positive she does. He wouldn’t go so far as to say he _knows_ she does, but the way her eyes flick down to his mouth and back up while she absently licks her lips short-circuits his brain and tells him she’s probably at least _physically_ attracted to him.

But it’s not like he’s actually going to _do_ anything about it. She’s gained enough of Akito’s ire as it is, and Kyo’s freedom is rapidly coming to a close anyway.

He’s not stupid. The previous cat had children; he knows it’s _technically_ possible. But there’s no way, even if Akito was willing, that he’d allow her to submit herself to that life—and there’s _no_ way he’s going to start something now when he’s only going to have to end it and hurt them both. He loves her way too much for that.

But that doesn’t mean it isn’t fuel for the furnace of his imagination.

He doesn’t know much about female anatomy beyond what he’s seen in pornography, but that doesn’t stop him from fantasizing. He imagines his hands on her body, sliding her dress over her head. He imagines bending her over the kitchen counter, one palm flat against her back while the other lifts her skirt and lowers her underwear. He daydreams about sitting on the edge of her bed with her kneeling between his knees, licking her lips before taking him into her mouth.

(He finds finishing himself off with his fist less and less satisfying as time goes on.)

* * *

The first time she slips her hands under his shirt, his brain sputters and stops.

They’ve been together for weeks by this point, and he’s been trying _very hard_ to be respectful of boundaries. His hands have stayed in neutral territory, content with being able to hold her close and not turn into a fucking _cat_.

“What are you doing?” He asks as she pushes him down onto the bed, straddling his lap.

She grins at him.

(The memory of what follows replays in his mind later that night when he closes his hand around himself.)

**Author's Note:**

> So the title of this was originally going to be "Grasp (and pull)" but I thought that was too on the nose.
> 
> And yes, the prompt about hands turned into masturbation. Idek man. I was listening to a LOT of Horny Pop Music while I was writing it and it just kinda happened.


End file.
